A Bit of Rain
by ChibiDawn23
Summary: MARY POPPINS RETURNS. "Fine," Jack answered for the both of them. "We're fine." He kept his head down, grasping Jane's hand with his right and holding on for dear life. A riot and the weather create a perfect storm for Jack and Jane. Jane's in the hospital, which has *never* been Jack's favorite place, for good reasons. Jane/Jack.
1. The Clouds Make A Muss

**Disclaimer:**** I don't own the characters of "Mary Poppins Returns," they belong to PL Travers and Disney.**

**Author's**** Note: Takes place in the same continuity as my other MPR stories, though it's not necessary to read those first. Unless you want to, I won't mind ;)**

* * *

The lovely London sky wasn't so lovely this morning. It was the first big crack of thunder that made his eyes open. Jack blinked and looked out the small window of the bedroom. Rain pelted the glass. Unconsciously, he shivered. Rain still made him a little twitchy, considering what had happened during the last big summer storm. His left arm ached, though he suspected it was from sleeping on it accidentally as opposed to the weather. _Although it could be the weather_, he thought to himself. He wouldn't be the first leerie to complain of sore joints and aches and pains when the weather turned. It was the nature of the job.

He glanced around. Angus was still asleep, one arm and one leg hanging off his bed, and Thomas was snoring. The three leeries split the rent on the flat together. Jack was the oldest of the three and as such often felt like the responsible adult, making sure Angus and Thomas went on their routes, and more importantly, that rent got paid.

But just because he was the 'adult' didn't always mean he had to act like one.

_Time to get up_, Jack thought to himself with a smile, and swung himself out of bed. On his way out of the room, he grabbed Angus's leg with his good right hand and _pulled_. Angus yelped as he hit the floor, swiping good-naturedly for Jack as the older man laughed and pulled Thomas's pillow out from under him.

"Good mornin'!" Jack grinned as he gathered his clothes.

"What's so 'good' abou' it?" Thomas groaned, finding his pillow and burying his head under it.

"Always somethin' good to be found," Jack reminded him. "Now move along, the both of you."

He was whistling as he left the flat and went downstairs to get his bike. No amount of rain was going to stop him from seeing Jane Banks that evening. The two of them had plans for dinner at her flat.

* * *

Jane Banks woke up to the rain, too. _Lovely_. She swung herself out of bed and grabbed her robe, wrapping it around her as she glanced outside. Puddles were already forming in the street below and cars and horse-drawn carts splashed through them. She looked at the clock. "Time to get moving," she said aloud. She wasn't excited to be going out into the rain, but people were counting on her. SPRUCE-the Society for the Protection of the Rights of the Underpaid Citizens of England-was going be holding a rally to protest the cuts to the unemployment fund. Rain or shine, the unemployed workers would be there, and so would Jane and her team.

She dressed quickly in a pair of black slacks and a green blouse, brushing her hair quickly and throwing her favorite beret over the top of it. _I wonder if Jack will be there_, she thought to herself, and then blushed at herself in the mirror. _Silly. Jack has a job to do, he can't be at every rally. And you're seeing him tonight anyway._

Jane made herself a quick breakfast and then, picket signs in hand, she left her apartment and headed for their chosen meeting site of the day. The rain was relentless, and she wondered briefly if maybe they should cancel when they got there. The Slump showed no signs of letting up anytime soon, much like the rain. There would be other days.

_We'll see what the crowd looks like when I get there,_ she thought, one hand on her hat to keep it from blowing away. _Perhaps if no one shows, I can find Jack a little earlier!_ The thought made her smile.

* * *

Jack was soaked through by his second street. Fortunately, the thunder and lightning had let up, and he was grateful for it. It seemed silly, that a grown man should be scared of storms, but when one is shot and then abducted during one, every crack of thunder suddenly becomes a gunshot, or a kick to the ribs, or…

He blinked. _Nothin' out here but you an' the rain, Jack_, he reminded himself. Still…he couldn't shake the feeling that something was…_off_…about the day. "Ridiculous," he said out loud as he flicked the gas off , extinguished the flame in the lamp he was currently propped against, and hopped off the ladder. "Just a bit o' rain, nothin' more," he said, catching the curious looks of a few passersby. He tipped his sopping hat to them with a smile. They smiled back. Most of the people on Jack's route weren't too surprised by the leerie talking to himself. In fact, most of the time, he was whistling or singing.

He tied the ladder back to his bike, looking down across the intersection to his next light. Except the intersection was filled with people. Lots of them. Loud people.

He frowned. _There a rally today_? He pushed his bike along with both hands (not that his left was being much help). It was the only explanation he could think of as to why people were standing willingly in ankle-deep water, getting completely soaked by the rain, and _Oh_. Now he could see some of them holding signs. Most of the words he couldn't quite make out, but a big, bold UNEMPLOYED stood out on one of them. _Sure enough_, he thought. He'd stumbled onto a protest. He'd heard some of the sweeps and dockworkers at the pub talking about whoever was in charge taking money from the unemployment fund, the money that should've been going to help the men and women who weren't lucky enough to have jobs.

_When there's a rally..._His eyes caught a flash of green and blonde curls, and his smile lit up.

_She's here_!

* * *

"Lovely weather we're havin' innit?" Andrew Haversham took the stack of picket signs from Jane and passed them around. Andy was dressed in a tweed jacket that wasn't doing much for keeping the rain off. His blonde hair was matted to his head, giving him the look of a drowned Viking.

Jane giggled as she looked at the crowd. "I can't believe the turnout," she said. "Even on an ugly day such as this!"

"Lot of these boys work in weather like this no matter anyway," Andy pointed out. He shrugged. "Maybe the rain'll keep the opposition at home."

"Which does no good for us if they can't see or hear the message," Jane pointed out.

"No such luck, Andy," Fiona Walters said, ducking her head from the rain as she came jogging across the street, her flats disappearing in the puddles. She pointed up the road, where a couple of police cars had pulled up. "Someone called 'em," she added in her thick Irish accent, off Jane's confused look. "Apparently, we're 'blockin' traffic.'"

Jane waved a hand in all four directions. "_What_ traffic?" she asked. She rolled her eyes. "That's a good one. Well, I suppose we can just move it up the street to the soup kitchen if we need to," she decided. "The press might be more likely to come to an indoor event anyway," Jane added. "And if I know these boys, they'll definitely want something hot to eat after this is over."

* * *

Jack was on his ladder replacing a wick inside a lamp when he saw the police show up. Up until that point, the rally had just been a lot of shouting and yelling and waving signs. Now, he had a feeling it was about to get a little more exciting. His eyes picked out Jane's bright blonde hair at the edge of it, standing next to a gentleman in a tweed jacket and a woman with bright red hair tucked under a hood. Forgetting about the lamp for a moment, he watched the scene unfolding with interest, and a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Thunder rumbled and he held onto the lamp a little tighter. _Steady, Jack_, he chided himself.

* * *

"Y'need to get these people out o' here," the first policeman was telling Andy. He didn't look happy in the slightest that he was out getting drenched this early in the morning.

"What for?" Andy asked him. "No one's done anything, they've got a right to be here."

"Your rally is blocking the street," the policeman replied. "Nobody can get through."

Jane crossed her arms over her chest. "Officer, up until now, yours is the only car we've seen. How can we be blocking traffic if there's no one about?"

The yelling and shouting intensified; someone in the crowd had seen the police.

"You're causin' a public nuisance," another officer told Fiona. "People are complainin'."

Fiona raised an eyebrow. "So either we're blockin' traffic or causin' a nuisance….which one are you stickin' with, then?"

The man did _not_ look happy that Fiona had caught him in a cross, and he took a step forward toward her. Jane smoothly stepped between the officer and the fiery Irishwoman. "Officers, these men aren't doing anything they're not permitted to," Jane said, trying to placate the situation. "We've not seen a single car except yours, nor has anyone come out of these shops to tell us we're being too loud. I'm sorry whoever called you brought you out in this weather, but-"

There was a loud bang.

A moment of nothing but the rain. Then, someone screamed.

And a peaceful protest turned into a riot.

* * *

**Author's Note II****: I know the police did get called occasionally to break up protests during the Depression in England (like in the US), but I also know my scenario's slightly unrealistic. So I'm picturing it all happening like the strike in "Newsies" in my head, where they're just looking for an excuse to break up a protest. Someone didn't want 'em there, so they called the cops to come break it up.**


	2. Day's Up the Spout

**CHAPTER TWO**

Jack was off his ladder the second he heard the loud _bang_, a sound that shook him even as he was running toward the chaos. The crowd was in a panic-people were throwing punches, some were running away, the policemen had their clubs out fending off the protesters. Signs were broken, the puddled water was churning beneath everyone's feet. The rain was coming down harder, adding to the confusion, making it nearly impossible to see anything clearly.

_Where was Jane_? He shoved his way through the crowd, toward the last place he'd seen her standing. "Jane!" he yelled uselessly over the chaos. Someone bumped his left arm and pain shot through his body, but he gritted his teeth and ignored it, focused on finding Jane.

"Watch it, you-" Jack just had time to look up at the warning before a fist came flying his direction. He twisted at the last second and it glanced off him, sending him spiraling into another man who started swearing heatedly at him in a thick Welsh accent. Jack didn't answer back or offer an apology. He couldn't, as he felt himself falling.

He threw both arms out in front of him reflexively as he fell forward into the water. Pain radiated up his left arm and this time, he did his own swearing. His knees hit the cobblestones, and if he wasn't wet before, now he was downright soaked.

_What just happened_? He realized he'd tripped over something, and he looked back to see what it was.

A green blouse. Blonde hair. "Jane!" he screamed over the crowd, crawling back to where she lay on the ground, eyes closed, muddy water soaking through her clothing. He tried to lift her, get her up and away from the crowd of feet and shoes and legs above them, knocking into them both and splashing water every direction. "I need some help!" he shouted, cradling her in his arms, leaning over her protectively as legs and feet thrashed about around them. He looked down at her. "Jane, please," he begged her. It was too chaotic a scene for him to properly tell if she was breathing or not. "Open your eyes!" he yelled at her.

Someone splashed into the water next to him, and he looked up to see the blonde man in the tweed jacket from earlier. "Is she okay?" he asked Jack, kneeling down in the puddle next to them.

"Dunno," Jack replied, shaking her gently. "Can't get her to open her eyes!"

"We've got to get her out of here," Andy told him. "Can you help me lift her?"

Jack grunted, hooked his right arm under Jane's armpit and levered her upright, Andy doing most of the work. "Where's the closest hospital?" Andy demanded as the two of them jostled and bumped their way out of the crowd and down the street.

"St. Bart's," Jack breathed, trying to ignore the panic that came with the word 'hospital.' "You-I…can you carry her?" he asked, hating that he had to ask.

Andy looked at him, noticed him heavily favoring his left arm. "Yeah, here," he said, stopping just long enough to scoop Jane into his arms. "You okay?" he asked.

"Old injury," Jack wheezed. "I'll be all right, though. I'm Jack."

"Andy," Andy introduced himself. Then, he blinked. "Hold on…You a leerie?" When Jack nodded, looking confused, Andy grinned, despite the situation. "You're _Jane's_ Jack, aren't you?" he realized.

Jack looked even more lost. "She talks about you _all_ the time." Andy looked at him. "Don't worry," he said. "Between you and me, we're gonna make sure she's all right," he promised.

Jack nodded. "Hold you to that, then," he said. He pointed. "St. Bart's is round the corner." The two men kept up a frantic pace, but kept it in silence. Andy was focused on trying not to drop his friend and coworker and how wet he was from kneeling in the rain and the puddles. Jack was focused on deep breathing to calm himself down as they got closer to the white brick building, the pain in his left arm, and the worry for Jane eating away at his stomach.

_She's gonna be all right_, he tried to reassure himself. _Just a knock on the head or somethin'. _He hadn't seen any blood, so whatever the sound had been, at least it hadn't been someone giving his love a bullet wound to match his own.

_A bellow of thunder. A crack of lightning…not lightning, something else…Pain ripping through his shoulder as he reached up for Georgie Banks. Then he was falling._

_Then nothing_.

"…What?" Jack snapped back to reality when he realized Andy was talking to him. The other man was looking at him in concern.

"Thought I lost you a moment. You just sorta…stopped." Andy nodded ahead. "We're here, get the door for me?"

Jack obliged, pulling the door open as Andy stepped through sideways, careful not to hit Jane with the door frame. "I need some help, please!" Andy called out. A nurse poked her head from her station, noted the two soaking wet men and the woman in Andy's' arms.

"Put her here," the nurse instructed, pointing to an empty bed even as she bolted from around the desk. "Gently, please, that's good." Andy set Jane down in the hospital bed as the nurse checked her over. "Nasty bump on the back of her head," she noted. "What happened?"

Andy's explanation faded into background noise as another memory hit Jack at full speed.

_What happened?_

_Nobody knows. Found the two of 'em in the alleyway. Wouldn'ta seen 'em a'tall if'n I 'adn't nearly run the boy over-'e was standin' righ' in the middle o' the way._

"Jack!"

Jack clenched his fists and opened his eyes to see Andy looking down at him.

_Down?_

"You okay, mate?" Andy asked, offering him a hand. Jack grabbed it with his right hand, staggering to his feet.

'_S always in the hospital. Hospitals always do this to me_. "Fine," Jack blinked. "Did I-"

"You just sort of…sat," Andy said. The nurse had also paused in her examination of Jane to look at him worriedly. "Kinda blanked out a bit. That's the second time just recently," Andy added with a glance at the nurse. "You sure you're okay, Jack?"

"Sorry," Jack apologized, hating that he was taking attention away from Jane. "I, ah, don't much care for hospitals."

"Nobody does," the nurse agreed, looking at Jack closely. "I'm going to get a doctor to look over your friend." She looked at Jack. "Will you _both_ be all right?"

"Fine," Jack answered quickly before Andy had a chance to. "We're fine." He kept his head down, grasping Jane's hand with his right and holding on for dear life.

Andy studied the two of them a moment. "I'm going to go call Michael," Andy said. "I'll just….yeah, I'll leave the two of you be." He backed away from the curtain and ducked out behind the nurse.

* * *

Jack looked down at Jane. Her face was devoid of color, eyes closed. It scared him. Jane's was a face normally full of life, her eyes alight with whatever happened to make her happy. Which was a lot of things. "Open your eyes, love," Jack whispered to her. "Please."

Jane didn't respond, or react in any way that made him believe she'd heard him. _But she has to_, he thought desperately. _She can't…_ "Don't think like that, Jack," he chided himself quietly. "Stop it this instant."

His friend Angus popped into his mind. The younger lamplighter had told him something, back when Angus had just busted him out of the hospital, reteaching him to ride a bike one-handed. _One o' these days, you're gonna give me your weep 'n wail about why you hate hospitals so much._

It wasn't a story he'd ever be telling Angus…not for awhile. But Jane…_She should probably know_.

Unsure of what else to do, Jack perched on the edge of the hospital bed, her hand still firmly planted in his own. "You know," he began, glancing around to see if anyone was listening, "when Georgie an' I did our time in the Chimpanzoo, your nephew'd ask me to tell 'im stories to pass the time." He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. "Seein' as how you seem to like my stories," he continued, "perhaps I'll tell you another one." He adjusted, slipping his left hand into Jane's and used his right hand to take off his hat, run a hand over his face. It came away wet and grimy and he frowned. "Hope they don't mind," he muttered, setting it down on the mint green blanket on the bed. Then, he looked back down at Jane.

"This story's about a young lad named Jack."


	3. Bobbing and Weaving

**Disclaimer****: Not mine. Disney.**

**Author's Note: A spoonful of sugar might be good to help this chapter go down. I don't know what to call it. A kid gets hit by a stranger, I don't want to say more without spoiling the chapter.**

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

The body slammed to the mat right in front him, and didn't get up again.

The five year old boy sitting in the corner didn't even flinch, instead, he rose to his feet, cheering, louder than the crowd around them. "_El Toro!"_ He jumped up and down, both hands on the bottom rope so he wouldn't fall off the narrow edge of the mat outside the ring. "_El Toro, El Toro!"_

The tall, dark-haired man inside the ring had his fists raised in the air, triumphant. He turned to the boy and gave him a thumbs up, which made the boy smile wider. Then, he was walking over to the boy, ducking under the ropes and pulling the strips of cloth off his hands, the match over.

"What did you think, Joaquin?" he asked the little boy in Spanish, picking him up so he was face to face with him.

The boy's answer was immediate. "You could have had him in two, Papi."

Miguel let out a belting laugh. "Ah, but then there would be no show for the people, eh?" he whispered back to his son with a wink. Joaquin giggled. Miguel hopped off the ring, his son in his arms, and made his way over to a stout man with a cigar in his mouth. The man was grinning, teeth clamped down on the cigar so it wouldn't fall out.

"Another win, Miguel!" he greeted them happily, a wad of cash in his hands. He thumbed through some of it, handed some to Miguel. "You're unstoppable!"

Miguel shook his head. "Someone out there, is better," he assured him in broken English.

The man guffawed, tweaking Joaquin's nose. "Well, son, if there is, you haven't met him yet!" He whacked Miguel on the back. "I'll be in touch with another one!"

"_Graci-_thank you," Miguel told him. He nudged Joaquin.

In careful, practiced English, the boy said, "Thank you," shyly. But the man either didn't notice, or wasn't impressed. He was already walking away, counting the money in his hand.

* * *

The streets were dark when they came out of the building. The lamps were already lit. Joaquin shivered. Fall was different here. Colder, than where they'd come from, but he liked the colors the leaves turned. He squirmed, and Miguel let him down. His son proceeded to the nearest pile of leaves and kicked them happily, sending colored projectiles flying into the air. Joaquin grinned as they fell around him. One landed on top of his head. His papi laughed. "Those poor leaves, what did they do to you?" he teased his son.

"It's so fun!" Joaquin gushed, hopping on the scattered leaves on the sidewalk, crunching them under his shoes.

His father grinned, amused. "I can see that," he said. "Come on, Joaquin, time for you to hold Papi's hand." He held out a big palm, and his son came flying back, one hand in his papi's, the other holding onto a bright red leaf he'd found.

"Soon you will not be able to play in the leaves all day," his father reminded him as they turned off onto a side road. "You will be in school."

Joaquin groaned. "School will be fun," he admitted. "But I like the leaves better. And the snow. And the puddles." He shivered, thinking of the weather they'd be getting in just a few short weeks. "Maybe not the snow."

"Shall we work on your spelling?" Miguel asked him. "In English…London?"

Joaquin's face screwed up into a mask of concentration as they walked. "L-O-N…D-O-N," he finished triumphantly. "P-A-P-I," he added with a grin.

"P-A-P-_A_," his father corrected him gently. "English." Joaquin made the correction easily. "Good. Let's see…a hard one, I think." He mumbled to himself in Spanish, picking words and then discarding them as too easy or too hard, making his son laugh at the exaggerated thinking process. "Ah!" Miguel grinned with a twinkle in his eye, as they turned into the alley to get to their door. "_El Toro,_" he told Joaquin. "In English."

His son didn't even have to think about it. "B-U-L-L," Joaquin spelled aloud. He laughed. "That was too easy, Papi!"

Miguel raised an eyebrow. "Oh?" he said, mocking surprise. "Maybe we should move on to numbers? Can you count to…twenty?"

Joaquin rolled his eyes. Numbers were easier than his spelling words. "One," he began. "Two. Three-"

"Two's where you should have stopped tonight, _El Toro_." Miguel's nickname in the ring came off like an insult from two men who appeared in the alley behind them. Miguel swung Joaquin behind him, one arm curling backwards around him protectively. The men were big. They looked like dockworkers or shipbuilders, big muscles under white shirts and suspenders.

"Yeah," the second man said. "We had money on you beatin' Gladstone in two." The two men came forward. Miguel could smell alcohol on their breath and hear the anger in their voices.

"Joaquin," Miguel told his son, never taking his eyes off the two men. "Go inside." He gave his son a nudge backwards, toward the door.

"Papi-"

The two men exploded, throwing punches in a drunken haze. Miguel lifted his hands to block, sending Joaquin off balance. The boy hit the ground and scrambled backwards, out of the way. Joaquin hid behind some bins, watching his father fight the two men.

Miguel drove a punch into the stomach of one man. He grunted and keeled over, and Miguel drove an elbow into the base of his neck, dropping him to the alley floor. The other man, the one who had started the whole thing, came at Miguel, dodging a cross and driving Miguel into the brick wall. His head slammed back but he had hold of his attacker's collar pulling them both down as he slid to the ground. His attacker rolled over the top of him, started raining blows on the fighter. Joaquin yelled, running from his hiding place and jumping on the man's back, holding onto his neck tightly. The distraction worked; Miguel drove his knee into a very strategic place and slid out from under the man's grip. The attacker fell backwards, and Joaquin couldn't let go fast enough before the man landed backwards on top of him, taking the wind out of the little boy.

Miguel picked the man up. "Get out of here," he hissed at him in Spanish, driving his fist into the man's nose hard enough to break it. He gave up, swearing as he ran from the alley.

Miguel turned, breathing heavily, looking at Joaquin, laying on the alley floor. The boy was wheezing, and Miguel ran to him, carefully picking him up and putting him on his feet. "Are you-"

He was jerked up, away from his son. There was a short, garbled gasp.

They had forgotten about the other man, who had recovered, and who had brought a knife to a fist fight. Miguel slumped forward, dropping first to his knees.

"_Papi!"_ Joaquin screamed.

His father slid sideways and dropped to the ground. Joaquin was up, running at the big man, screaming at him in rapid-fire Spanish. He'd hurt his papi, and he wasn't going to get away with it.

The man reached back and dropped the boy with a single punch. Joaquin's whole body carried the momentum sideways and the boy dropped to the alley floor.

Through blurry vision, he saw the man take off. Joaquin rolled onto his side. He saw his father, laying on the ground, arms curled protectively around his middle. Joaquin crawled painfully over to him. Every movement _hurt_.

"Joaquin," his Papi breathed. "Are you…all right?"

Joaquin nodded. It was getting harder to see out of his eye, and his face was wet with something. His head hurt lots and lots.

"We need…" Miguel breathed. "We need a….a doctor. Can you…"

Lights, in the alley. Joaquin looked up to see a vehicle rattling down the alley. Joaquin slowly got to his feet. The headlights were blinding in the dark, even with his half-swollen eye. He stumbled out in front of the truck.

The truck slammed on the brakes, just a foot from the boy.

Joaquin dropped to the ground, out cold.

* * *

Andy Haversham listened quietly from the doorway, watching Jack and Jane. The leerie hadn't let go of Jane's hand the entire time he'd told the story, his knuckles white. His voice had caught in several places, on happy memories and sad. It was an interesting story, Andy thought, to tell someone in a hospital bed. And it was nothing like the stories Jane laughed about as she retold them to him and Fiona- far from them.

He had a feeling, if he kept listening, the story would get worse before it got better. As Jack shifted on the bed, Andy heard him sniff and run the back of his hand over his eyes.

Someone tapped Andy on the shoulder. He turned to see Michael Banks behind him, face awash with worry. His mustache drooped with the rain, his umbrella and coat dripping wet. No sign of Jane's niece and nephews; Michael must have left his children at home. Andy pushed off the doorframe and motioned for Michael to join him.

When they were in the waiting area, Michael burst out, "Is she-"

"Nasty knock on the head," Andy filled him in. "Doctor hasn't been in to look in on her yet. Jack's been with her the whole time. I've been….well, handling the paperwork." He bit his lip. "I wasn't sure if Jack-"

"No, no, I don't know," Michael said. "I've never….we've never asked." He ran a hand over his face. "What happened?"

Andy filled him in. "Lightning. Must have hit something on the ground, and close by. The sound it made…everybody panicked. Was like a gunshot going off. When I found Jane, Jack was with her, tryin' to keep her from getting trampled. We brought her here. I had to carry her. Jack was favoring his arm-I dunno if something happened to him there or-"

"Old injury," Michael told him. "He was shot a few months ago. It's a long story," he added, at Andy's shocked look.

_Jesus, but this man's got quite the history..._ Andy thought, unable to hide the look of shock and sympathy on his face. Andy's eyes drifted back to the room. "Speaking of stories," he began, and motioned Michael toward the doorway.

"You're gonna wanna listen in on this, I think."

* * *

**Author's Note**: I'm kinda digging Andy as a character. He sorta came out of nowhere. To the folks wondering how a boxer just got beat by two drunks...that's two drunks who fight dirty in the dark and who brought a knife.


	4. The Past is the Past

**CHAPTER FOUR**

_J_ane shifted a bit on the bed and Jack sat up straighter, looking at her hopefully. "Come on," he urged her. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and he turned, eyes widening in surprise and embarrassment as he spotted Andy and Michael eavesdropping from the door. The two of them turned appropriately red.

"Michael." Jack didn't let go of Jane's hand. "I'm sorry. I-"

Michael eyed Andy, who nodded and backed out of the doorway. Michael Banks entered the room, coming to stand next to his sister and Jack. For a moment, he said nothing, looking at his sister, lying still in the bed. "Are you all right?" he asked Jack.

Jack seemed confused by the question. "Banged up," he said after a moment, looking at his friend. He frowned at Michael. "You're…you're not asking after Jane?"

"Andy filled me in," Michael told him. He put a hand on Jack's shoulder. "You didn't answer my question."

Jack shrugged his hand off. "I'm fine."

Michael disappeared from the room, came back with a chair from the waiting room. He set it on the floor and collapsed into it, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "You know," he began, "Jane has this nasty habit of always trying to be the strong one in the family." He coughed out a short laugh. "Lord knows between Kate's passing and the whole debacle with the house, I've not been in the best of shape for it." He steepled his fingers and looked up at Jack with knowing eyes. "I'm fairly certain, though, that today, I can handle it well enough." Off Jack's guilty look, he added, "Andy's been listening this whole time. He's filled me in, so far." He nodded to the leerie. "Please, keep going."

Jack shook his head. "I don't-"

"Jack." Michael's voice took on a stern, fatherly tone, one he'd adapted from his own father. "Do you remember when you were in the hospital, after Wilkins? How the doctor sent you out with Angus because what they were doing here wasn't helping you get better?" Michael leaned forward. "This is part of that. This is a story that's been a long time in being told to someone. I think you need to tell it. I think it'll help you get better."

Jack was silent for a moment. "I've only told this story ever to one other person," he admitted. "I was seven. He needed-Bert needed, you knew Bert?"

Michael nodded, with a grin, remembering chalk drawings and chimney sweeps. "He was a great friend," Michael said fondly. Then, he paused. "I remember, now, there was a boy with him, about Jane's age, sometimes, when he came down Cherry Tree Lane." His eyes widened with realization. "That was _you_, wasn't it? How did you meet Bert?"

Jack sighed. "I don' want to burden you with it," he told Michael. He nodded to Jane. "You've got enough to worry 'bout as it is."

Michael crossed his legs and leaned back. "Oh, I think the story'll take our minds off worrying, don't you?" He nodded to his sister. "Besides," he added, his voice light despite the pit of worry in his stomach, "Jane loves your stories."

Jack wasn't stupid. He knew what Michael was trying to do. And yet…He ran a hand over his face, let out a long, slow breath, and continued.

* * *

_Joaquin woke up with a splitting headache. He could barely see out of either eye. At first, he didn't know where he was. He looked around. Shapes changed from blurry to objects he knew. He was lying in a hospital bed. He shot straight up, frantically looking for his father. The movement made his head hurt and he squeezed his eyes shut. It felt like he was spinning, like when Papi would swing him in a circle sometimes. "Papi?" he called, his voice barely a whisper. "Papi!" He couldn't make his voice louder-everything hurt so bad._

_He dared to open his eyes again._

_His blurry vision caught two men talking in the corner. One was wearing a dark blue coat and hat. The other was in a bright white coat. The one in the white coat moved and then he saw a smaller man, a dirtier man, twisting something over and over in his hands. He couldn't understand the conversation-only a few words here and there._

_"What happened?" the man in blue was asking._

_"Nobody knows." That came from the man in white. _

_The smaller man who was fiddling with something spoke up, "Found the two of 'em in the alleyway. Wouldn'ta seen 'em a'tall if'n I 'adn't nearly run the boy over-'e was standin' righ' in the middle o' the way."_

_"No sign of the attackers?"_

_"No, sir. They was gone 'fore I got there."_

_"And what's the story on them?" The man in blue nodded over to Joaquin, noticing that the boy was alert and watching them._

_"Boy took a blow to the face. Broken nose, black eye, plenty of bruising. We'll check for a concussion now that he's awake. As for the father…"_

_Father, that was a word that made Joaquin pay special attention. As well as he could. The bright lights made his head hurt more, and straining to listen to catch any word that he knew wasn't helping matters._

_The doctor nodded to something, and Joaquin looked to see another bed in the room. There was a person in it-dark hair, olive skin…they looked like they were sleeping. He knew the person._

_Papi! He was here, he was sleeping. He wanted to get off his bed and hug his father, but his body felt really heavy. He wondered if this was how his Papi felt after a fight all the time. It wasn't a good feeling._

_"Severe internal damage from the knife," the doctor was telling his companions. "Add to that the beating he took and well…we managed to stop the bleeding, but there's no sign of any brain activity. He doesn't respond to external stimuli. We're monitoring him to be sure but…I don't think he'll live through the night."_

_"The poor lad," the smaller man said quietly. "'Ow will you tell 'im, that 'is pops is gone?"_

_"We're looking for someone who speaks his language to tell him. Once he's better, we'll have to send him to a home if no one can find any next of kin."_

_Gone?_

_A home? The word sounded different, not like __his__ home, with Papi, but a different one, somehow._

_Joaquin didn't like the sound of the man's voice. It was too quiet. Like the landlord, when he told Miguel that the rent had to be paid or they'd be kicked out. Or Papi…when he'd told Joaquin about Mama…_

_"Papi?"_

_Three faces turned to Joaquin, hearing the small whisper in the silence in the room._

_"Papi!" He burst into tears, which caught the attention of the three men. The man in the white coat came running over, trying to calm him down. Joaquin was crying, screaming, trying to push him away. The man in blue came over to help, holding Joaquin while the other man left and came back with a syringe, poking it into Joaquin's arm._

_All the brightness faded away._

* * *

There was a tap on the door, interrupting Jack. He quit talking abruptly and he and Michael turned to see a man in a white coat poking his head in the doorway. "Sorry," he apologized. "Lots of accidents with the rain. I'm Doctor Fields. May I?" He stepped into the room, made his way over to Jack and Jane. He looked Jack up and down, curiously. He caught the tight grip Jack had on Jane's hand, and smoothly said, "Could you slide a bit to your left?"

Jack obliged, his eyes never leaving the doctor.

The doctor slid in, producing a penlight. He leaned over Jane, checking her pupils, lifting her, checking the bump on her head, listening to her heart, while Michael and Jack waited. After a few minutes, he clicked his light off and stood up. "No outward signs of trauma that I can see," Dr. Fields told the two men. He looked at Michael. "I can run an EEG to be sure of no brain damage, if you like?"

Michael frowned. "What is that, exactly?"

"Newer procedure," the doctor told him. "Measures the electrical activity in the brain. Basically, it's a bit like a car…we make sure the brain is firing on all cylinders." He smiled a bit at the comparison. "That'll be up to you."

Jack looked at Michael. The older man was holding his chin with his hand, thinking. Then, "Why not. Just to be sure."

Dr. Fields nodded. "I'll have someone come get her shortly." He looked at Jack, who had gone completely white. "Sir? Are you-"

"He's fine," Michael cut in, knowing that's what Jack would have said himself anyway. "We'll be all right here," he added. "Thank you."

The doctor nodded and left the room, leaving the three of them alone again. Michael studied Jack. His friend's face was white as the bed sheets, and his hands were shaking.

"Jack?" he asked, standing. "Should I-"

"Don't let them take her away." Jack's voice was barely above a whisper. "They can't take her away."

Michael put his hand on Jack's shoulder. "What do you-"

"If they take her away, she won't come back."

* * *

_When Joaquin awoke again, the room was dark. The only light was from a streetlamp outside. He was alone._

_Where was Papi? Where did he-_

_Pieces came back to him. The three men. Papi was… Joaquin looked around the room. He was alone. The men were gone and so was…._

_"No…" It hurt to cry, but he couldn't help it. "P-Papi…"_

_The bed where his father had been was gone._

* * *

Michael ran a hand down his face, taking it all in. "Jack…I'm so sorry," he said after a moment. No wonder he didn't want Jane to leave the room.

"Didn't even get t'say goodbye to him," Jack said quietly. He thought he might have been leaning on Michael, and felt embarrassed for it, straightening and sitting upright. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Michael replied, though he did sit back down in his chair. "What….what happened next?"

Jack took a breath or two before continuing, his voice quiet. "I remembered…the doctor said they'd have to send me to a home, if they couldn't find any family. Papi-Papa, he was the only family I had in London."

His eyes drifted toward the door. "I ran away," he told Michael. "Still had a black eye, still had the broken nose, but I ran away. I didn't-I didn't want to live in a home. I'd seen those kids…some of them…I didn't want to-"

His voice cracked. "I just wanted my father."

Michael gave him a moment before he asked his next question. "How long did you live on your own?"

Jack closed his eyes, thinking. "I think I was seven, when something good finally happened. So, two years, I s'pose?"

Two years. Michael's heart sank. _Five years old, barely able to speak English, letting a broken nose heal on it's own…Jack was a tougher man_, he thought, _than they gave him credit for._

The doctor came back, with another nurse. "We'll just be a moment," the doctor said. He nodded to Jack. "If you don't mind?"

Jack hesitated. He was still sitting on the bed. They needed him to move. But-

He felt Michael's hand on his arm, gently pulling him to his feet. "Don't worry," Michael told him. "Andy's out in the hall, still. He'll go with her."

Jack didn't really know Andy. But Andy seemed like a decent enough fellow. If Michael trusted him, then…

He slipped off the bed, standing in place as the hospital staff wheeled the bed out, leaving Michael and Jack in the room. Jack slipped to the floor, sitting with his legs crossed like he was a child.

After a minute, Michael joined him, pushing the chair back so he could sit across from him.

Then, he asked, "You said something good happened? What was that?"

Jack smiled, a genuine smile. "I met Bert," he said.


	5. Fill It With Hope

**Disclaimer****: ****Not mine. Characters belong to PL Travers and Disney. I'm just playin' in the sandbox.**

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE: Fill It With Hope**

_"Stop right there!"_

_It would have been easy to pretend that he didn't understand those three words, even though he did. To give the owner of the cart a completely blank stare and look sad with his big brown eyes until he took pity on him and just let him have the little bread roll (and maybe another one)._

_But it was frosty this spring morning and Joaquin was freezing._

_ He didn't have time to play the game. Instead, he grabbed onto the back of a passing wagon, gave the seller a cheeky grin, and hop off on the other side of the street, dashing through the alley, sliding around the backside of a policeman who didn't even see him. Joaquin clambered up the ladder of a fire escape of a nearby block of flats to the roof. A single chimney puffed out warm, white steam into the early morning air._

_Joaquin pulled his shabby jacket around himself and huddled near the bricks. The jacket had been another grifted item, stolen off a park bench in Kensington Gardens an autumn or two ago. It was still a bit long on him, but most of the buttons were still on and he could draw himself up under it with only a bit of his ankles showing now._

_He was getting taller. Pretty soon he'd need to find another pair of pants somewhere. He ran through ideas in his head as he tore a piece off the side of the roll and bit into it. A little hard, from being in the morning air, but not bad. He'd learned years ago that it didn't make sense to be picky. When you didn't have anything, everything you could get was good._

_That's what his Papi had used to tell him._

_"You ought to try that with some jam," a voice spoke up. Or at least, Joaquin caught 'you' and 'try' and 'jam.' The voice's accent was heavy on the Cockney._

_Joaquin jumped to his feet, back pressed to the chimney. He looked up at the person who had spoken. He was dressed in black from head to toe- and even his face was smudged with black. He was holding a strange looking broom in one hand, and he was looking at Joaquin curiously._

_"You got a name, son?"_

_Name. There was another word Joaquin knew. He'd picked up a few more words for his English vocabulary hiding near the windows of cafes, listening to the kitchen workers and waiting for them to throw out food at the end of the day. He'd also spent time walking in the park, listening to conversation there. The Spanish seven year old was by no means proficient, but he knew enough. His Papi had always said he was smart. Like a…__esponja…__He couldn't think of the English word._

_Nobody had ever asked him his name before. Mostly, they just yelled at him to "Stop, thief!" or "Get away from there!"_

_Then, the man smiled, a smile that reached all the way up to his eyes. It reminded him of the way Papi had smiled after his wins in the ring, after Joaquin counted almost to fifty in English. It was a real smile, a friendly one. "'S all right," the man said kindly. "'Bout if I go first? My name is Bert. An' I've never seen you round these rooftops before." Joaquin could hear a laugh in his voice, like he was making a joke. The man…__Bert__…crouched down in front of him so he was eye level, leaning on his odd-looking broom. "Got nothin' to be afraid of," he told the boy. He chuckled. "Your turn," he prompted, rocking on his heels._

_There was something about this man, Joaquin thought. He wasn't yelling at him. He wasn't angry-sounding. He smiled an awful lot. There was something about him…something that made Joaquin's stomach have __mariposas….__butterflies, he reminded himself, thinking of a spring day in the park with his Papi. _

_He was pretty sure, years and years later, that it was the butterflies that made him speak._

_"__Mi nombre…__" Joaquin paused. _English, mijo_, his father's voice reminded him. He swallowed, and tried again. "My name…is Joaquin."_

_"Joaquin, eh?" Bert mused. He sounded it out a couple of times in his strange accent. He looked at the boy. "Mind if I just call you Jack?"_

* * *

Michael Banks smiled, remembering the man he'd met in the park all those years ago, sketching painstakingly with colored chalk on the sidewalk. "Smiled a lot? That sounds like Bert," he said. He grinned at Jack. "You're right about his smile-it does go all the way to his eyes."

"Only ever saw him cross once or twice in the time I was with 'im," Jack confirmed. He cracked a smile. "I think the Admiral called that day a 'squall.'" He traced a pattern on the floor, having had his previous seat wheeled out of the room with Jane. He couldn't get his hands to stop moving. His right was tracing. His left was tapping out a beat on his knee. "Are they going to bring her back?"

Michael nodded. "I imagine it won't be much longer," he assured Jack. He noticed the reassurance didn't stop the tracing or the tapping, so he reached out with his foot and gently pressed down on Jack's right hand. The tracing ceased immediately, and Jack looked up at his friend.

Michael wasn't fooling him-the leerie could see worry lines around his eyes, and his face was paler around his mustache. _Makes two of us_, Jack thought. He needed to get out of here. His fingers started tracing again- a rectangle, over and over.

_And on their backs, they wear small plaques…_He felt a tap on his shoulder, looked up at Michael again, his fingers curling into his hand. Jack ran his hand through his hair and he laughed, embarrassed.

"You said when you met Bert he was a sweep. He was that and more when we met him-he sold kites in the park somedays, made music on others…" Michael thought hard. "Oh, and the drawings. You know, his chalk drawings are what made me want to be an artist. Well," he laughed with a shrug. "That and Mary Poppins. I always hoped if I drew something as marvelous as Bert did, that maybe it would become magical."

"One of your drawings saved your house," Jack pointed out, remembering the look of hope on Jane's face that night that Michael had discovered his youngest had patched their childhood kite with a picture carelessly drawn on a share certificate. "That's pretty magical, I'd think."

Michael paused for a moment. Thinking of the same night, of a drawing glowing in the lamplight. How was it that Jack always seemed to see things like his children…just a different enough. Was it Mary Poppins' magic that had made the drawing appear at just the right moment? Or his own, for drawing on the back of a share certificate in a burst of love and imagination conjured by his family? Something to ponder with Jane later…if, no, when she awakened again.

Michael blinked. "And so it was." He thought of something, and frowned."So then..how'd you end up as a leerie instead of a sweep?"

Jack shrugged. "Bert took on another job," he explained. "But that wasn't til a few years later. At first I mostly followed 'im a bit as a sweep, loved going up on the rooftops. Bert would introduce me to the other sweeps, be a bit of kick an' prance, and you could see all of London from those rooftops." Jack grinned. "All Bert's stories and songs…how d'you think I learned English?" He laughed. "He'd sit round and think up rhymes to go with all the folks he'd meet in the park. Wasn't hard to pick up on after awhile. I've mostly lost my own accent, thanks to 'im!"

"I'm not sure learning Bert's accent was an improvement," Michael teased him, and Jack laughed.

He got quiet again. "Bert wasn't my father…but he surely treated me like a son," Jack said in a whisper. He looked up at the sound of wheels, and the doctor and orderly returned, wheeling Jane back into the room, followed by Andy.

Jack scrambled out of the way and forced himself to stand. Jane was still asleep, the only color in the otherwise sterile and pale green room.

"What's the news?" Michael asked Dr. Fields.

The doctor nodded. "Everything appears normal."

"Why won't she wake up, then?" Jack asked from the other side, perched once again on the bed, his fingers intertwined with Jane's.

"Oh, this's probably the most sleep Jane's gotten in months," Andy joked quietly from the doorway. "Woman's always on the run." Michael cracked a knowing grin. "Sure she's just takin' advantage of the quiet."

The doctor smiled at him. "Sometimes," he explained, turning to Jack, in a tone that made it sound like Jack was a child, "the body just needs to sleep to heal."

Jack swallowed and nodded he understood. _And he did, all too well._


	6. My Heart is So Light

**CHAPTER 6**

"Chim chimney, chim chimney, chim chim, cheree! A sweep is as lucky as lucky can be!" Eight year old Jack skipped alongside Bert as they moved down the street. His new shoes felt a little tight, but Bert had promised him they'd loosen up the more walking and dancing he did, and so Jack danced almost everywhere. The two of them were in a part of London Jack had never been in. It was beautiful—a quiet, tree-lined street that ringed a park on the south side. The houses on the other side of the street were some of the grandest homes Jack had ever seen-well, from the street. He'd seen a lot of houses, but mostly from the rooftops.

Bert stopped suddenly, looking up at one of the houses. "Number 19," he noted. "This is the o-" He was cut off by a coughing fit that doubled him over. Jack looked at him with concern. He'd had the cough for few days now. He rocked on his heels, waiting for Bert patiently. Soon, the sweep stood upright again. "One," he finished, with a wink at Jack. Jack smiled back, but it didn't quite seem sincere.

_He can't go to the hospital. People didn't come out of hospitals. Papi didn't..._

There was a tapping sound coming from above them. Jack scanned the houses, finally pinpointing it to the house next door to the one they were standing at. Two children were jumping up and down excitedly in an upstairs window, waving animatedly to…_to us?_ A boy with brown hair. And a little yellow-haired girl, taller, in a paisley dress and curls. She caught his eye and looked at him curiously.

He craned his neck up to look at Bert, who was returning the waves. The two children looked over their shoulders at the same time, like someone was calling to them in the house, and then disappeared from view. "Who was that?" Jack asked Bert, craning his neck back, trying to spot them again.

"The Banks children," Bert explained. "Michael and Jane. They're about your age."

"How do you…know them?" Jack tagged along as Bert went up the steps of Number 19.

Bert knocked on the door. "Oh, we went on quite an adventure awhile back," he told Jack.

Jack leaned on the porch railing, looking back over at the house next door, watching to see if the children came back. "What kind of ad…adve…adventure?"

The door opened before Bert could answer, and then he was too busy with the chimney to properly answer. And then after that he was really tired, and when they got back to the flat, Bert fell asleep right away.

And Jack worried.

* * *

Michael shook his head. "I really don't remember this at all," he admitted. "I do remember that dress. Jane hated that dress. Wasn't long after that, I believe, that she started wearing pants. Father was furious. Mother was quite proud."

"Jane looked beautiful in that dress," Jack countered. "She ought to wear them more often."

Michael laughed, a good, genuine laugh. "You'll have a hard time convincing her of that!" he said.

"Doubt that," Andy muttered under his breath, with a wink at Jack.

Jack traced circles on the back of Jane's hand, blushing at Andy's teasing. He liked Andy, he was a lot like Angus. He kept waiting for Jane to start laughing during his story, like she did with all his other stories. Maybe this next part… "Anyway, wasn't long after that I met Mary Poppins the first time."

Michael looked up at him. "Wait. You mean you'd met her…before?" He sounded like he didn't believe it. Jack wondered why. Then he remembered that sometimes adults tended to forget things that happen when they're children, especially when they were as fantastic things as happened with Mary Poppins.

"Course," Jack shrugged. "Bert got sick- got so bad he couldn't get out of bed for the cough and the stiff joints." He quit tracing circles and held Jane's hand. "Scared me to death," he admitted. "There was one night that….well, I was thinkin'….he might…"

"Like your father," Andy offered from across the room, and Jack looked up sharply.

He nodded. "I remember lying in my own bed that night, hoping someone would come help him...that he wouldn't have to go to the hospital." The corner of his mouth lifted into half a smile. "And someone did."

* * *

The window burst open, startling Jack so bad he scrambled out of his blankets. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, seeing the clock face of Big Ben far off in the distance. _What made the window open?_ There was no wind, not that he could hear.

Then, his eye caught something. Something moving, out over the rooftops. Something _big_. Headed right for their window! Jack gasped and crawled backwards, as far away from the window as he could get. He swallowed, looking to Bert for help, but Bert was sound asleep.

Whatever it was…._it was here._

He stared, eyes wide, at the woman who swung herself gracefully through the open window, folding up a bright red umbrella as she stepped into the room.

Her eyes drifted to Bert, who was lying in bed, breathing heavily. "Dear Bert," she said softly. She reached for the bowl of water next to him that Jack had been painstakingly filling and refilling, pulled the cloth from it and wrung it, placing it on his forehead.

Then, she turned to Jack, as if just noticing he was there. "There you are," she said, looking down her nose at him. "You'll catch your death of cold down there on the floor, I dare say."

Jack stared at her, jaw on the floor. The woman wore a small black hat with a bird on the brim, and a black dress under a black coat. She looked at him intently. She would have been pretty, if she hadn't been looking at him like the shopkeepers used to when he went into the stores. Like she needed to keep an eye on him.

"I…who…" Jack stammered.

"Get dressed, please," the woman interrupted him. She looked him up and down. "Suppose it is a bit too late for a bath," she said disdainfully. She returned to Bert, adjusting the covers, removing his hat and laying it at the foot of the bed.

"Are you here to take care of Bert?" Jack asked, finally finding his voice. "Will…will he be all right?"

The woman looked at him and shook her head. "Some things just need to work themselves out," she told him, sounding a bit softer, though she did look once more over at Bert, who hadn't woken up during all of this. Then, she looked back at Jack. "Chin up, Joaquin. You'll only worry yourself sick, and one of you is plenty at the moment."

"But, I-" Jack froze. _She….she just…_ "How did you know my name?" he gasped. No one had called him Joaquin in almost a year. _Not since Bert…_

The woman went to the small chest of drawers, pulled out a shirt and pants and set them on top. Then, she came across the room, pulling Jack to his feet and pushing him toward the clothes. "Obviously, you told me," she sniffed. "Now spit spot, and best foot forward."

"But I didn't…" She was turned away from him again, and Jack hastily climbed into his clothes, realizing the conversation was over, stumbling into his pants. "Who are you?" he asked again.

"Mary Poppins," was the answer, like Jack should have known all along. She held out a hand and Jack stared at it. When he didn't take it right away, she rolled her eyes at him. "Come along now, we have somewhere to be."

Jack hesitated, glancing at Bert. Somehow, he was sleeping through all this. And that worried Jack more. "But, Bert…"

"Bert needs to rest. You need to stop fussing. Now take my hand, please," Mary Poppins told him. She eyed him impatiently.

_Who was this woman? How did she know Bert? She flew through the window! _It was confusing and mysterious and magical all at once. Jack was scared of this woman. But…she knew Bert, somehow. At least, she acted like she did. Bert was wonderful. So perhaps…maybe this Mary Poppins…maybe she wasn't as scary as she let on? He threaded his fingers into hers.

Then, he had another thought. "We're not going…out the _window_." Jack looked up at her. "_Are _we?"

"The very idea!" said Mary Poppins. She tapped her umbrella on the wooden floorboards and the flat's door cracked open of its own accord. "We're taking the stairs." She and Jack took a step out the door-

* * *

Into darkness. It was pitch black, no matter where you looked. Jack clung tighter to Mary Poppins' hand, afraid that if he let go, he'd be lost forever. "Where are we?" he asked. His voice sounded flat in the dark, like the darkness was absorbing the sound. It was dark. Too dark. _Like when Papi…_ Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. "It's too scary!" he cried, closing his eyes, willing himself to wake up back in the flat with Bert.

"And yet," Mary Poppins' voice assured from somewhere beside him, "even when things seem their darkest…" She squeezed his hand. "Open your eyes."

_How had she known?_ Jack shook his head frantically. "Joaquin," Mary Poppins' said, softer than before. "Jack, even when things seem dark and scary, there's always a light. Open your eyes."

Jack opened one eye, slowly. Then the other. And gasped.

A thousand, no, there had to be _more_, much more, pinpricks of light surrounded them. Twinkling lights sparkling around them, bursts of white and yellow and red and blue. Bright enough so he could make out Mary Poppins' face in the lights. It was like walking in the sky, like if he and Bert were on the rooftops at night and he'd climbed up Bert's ladder and kept going into the stars.

He let go of her hand, turned in a circle, eyes wide. A light twinkled brightly, landed on his nose. It tickled, and he laughed, trying to catch it, but it flitted away, as if daring Jack to follow. The lights swirled into a spiral, all gathering as one and then burst out, like the fireworks on the King's birthday. Jack's jaw dropped as the lights all came together again, swirling around him and then bouncing forward, like they wanted him to follow them.

He looked at Mary Poppins. "I…is it…can I?"

She smiled, a genuine one. "I don't see why not. Sometimes it's best to follow the light, as it tends to take one where one wants to go."

Jack grinned, and skipped off after the lights, singing one of Bert's songs as he followed. The lights led him round and flickered, turning him back the way he'd come. They turned him in circles, made spots on the ground like lily pads that he could jump on, as they scattered under his feet, flying up like dust. They made shapes and landed on his fingers, making his hands glow. He laughed, clapped his hands, and they scattered again. A happy memory filled his mind- playing in the leaves with Papi-kicking them into the air, letting them fall around him. His father's big laugh, matching Jack's own as he flung his arms out and the lights swirled around him, brighter...the twinkle in Bert's eye the day he'd asked to call him Jack...the smile on the little girl's face at Cherry Tree Lane...the lights grew even brighter.

And brighter…and brighter…

* * *

He woke up in bed, fully clothed. Confused, he blinked blearily and looked around. He was back in the flat, when a moment ago, he'd been…_where had he been_? Jack remembered…_Mary Poppins had come through the window, and he'd been playing with the lights…and…_

"G'mornin'," a voice greeted him, and Jack sat up to see Bert sitting on the edge of his bed, smiling at him.

Jack flew across the room and buried himself in Bert's arms. "You're all right!" he exclaimed. "I dreamed…and then Mary Poppins, she came and-"

"Mary Poppins, you say?" Bert said, with a twinkle in his eye not unlike the lights. "Course she would come and not stay, she never does long." He looked down at the boy buried in his shirt. "Tell me, Jack, what did you and Mary Poppins do?"

Jack launched into a breathless retelling of the lights and the dark. "And Mary said that even when things seem dark and scary that there's always light, and to follow the light!"

"Aye," Bert said with a knowing smile. "Good advice, that." He looked outside, saw the sun just setting. "Well now, we slept through a night and a day. Here." He got to his feet, slowly, never letting go of Jack's hand. He pointed down to the street, through the window.

A young man on a bicycle was whistling as he rolled to a stop in front of the gas lamp in front of the building. Jack watched as he put a ladder against the pole and climbed up, polishing the glass of the lantern before pulling a long stick from somewhere, Jack didn't see where. He lit the end of the stick on fire-on fire! Jack gaped, watching- and poked the end into the lamp. The wick caught, and a moment later, there was a brightly-burning lamp where before there had just been a darkening street.

"What's he?" Jack asked. He frowned, realizing the question sounded silly. "I mean…what's his job?"

"He's a lamplighter," Bert explained. "A leerie, they call themselves. They go all over London, lighting lamps and bringing bits of brightness to the city. And then in the morning, they put them out as the sun comes up to greet the day."

Jack craned his neck, watching the leerie move on to the next lamp. Bert didn't miss the lights shining in the little boy's eyes.

* * *

Jack blinked as the memory faded, bringing him back to his bedside vigil. He caught Michael looking at him, fingers steepled just below his chin. He was smiling.

Jack coughed, sat up a little straighter. "Ah, anyway. I used to go with Bert on his rounds-he let me ride on the handlebars of his bicycle. Loved bein' out just as a new day started…watchin' the stars fade away and the sun come up-well, when you could see it for the fog," he joked. "And then ridin' round, watching the sky change colors at night, the stars come out and the lights come on…" He sighed. "For a boy who'd been in the dark for so long, I just loved the light. I think Mary Poppins showed me that. That even when things are dark…there's always hope, a bit of light, on the horizon. I made myself a promise that I'd never forget her...forget that night."

"Things were always brighter when Bert was round," Michael agreed. "A trait he's passed onto you, I think."

"Speakin' of light on the horizon," Andy spoke up quietly, startling both men. Michael and Jack looked at Jane's coworker, who was smiling, pointing to the hospital bed.

Jane Banks' lovely eyes met Jack's, and his smile was so bright it lit the room. "Your smile really hasn't changed a bit," she said softly, and Jack felt his ears turning pink and didn't care as he smiled all the wider.

* * *

**Author's Note****: Ya'll, that Mary Poppins adventure was born out of one of the worst cases of writer's block I've ever had. Thanks to my pal lily moonlight for talking me through it, for Disney giving me "Gonna Take You Down," from "The Princess and the Frog" for the inspiration. **


	7. Playful Surprises

**Disclaimer: For the final time in this story, the characters don't belong to me. They belong to PL Travers and Disney.**

* * *

**Chapter 7: Playful Surprises**

"Aunt Jane!"

The name echoed off the walls as Georgie, John and Annabel Banks came flying into the room, chased after by Ellen and Andy. Michael shushed them quickly, reminding them of visiting hours (and the night nurse was being more than gracious as she was still secretly keeping tabs on Jack's health as well), but it didn't stop them from clambering onto the hospital bed, Georgie scrambling onto Jack's lap as his brother and sister squished up beside them.

"I see the whole gang is here," Andy teased dryly. He stepped up next to the bed, squeezed Jane's hand. "It appears that would be my exit."

"You don't have to leave," Jane said graciously, squeezing his hand back.

"Someone's gotta go so Fiona don't feel left out," Andy teased. "She said as much when I told her everyone was here in the hospital." Imitating Fiona's Irish accent, Andy said, "'What do you mean, you're all at the hospital? Don't I feel left out!'" The adults in the room laughed.

"Thank you," Michael told him, standing to shake his hand. Andy shrugged.

"Weren't nothin'," he said. He nodded to Jack. "Nice to have met you, Jack. Wish it woulda been under better circumstances." He laughed. "Better weather, too."

Jack shook his hand as well. "Weren't nothin' but a bit o' rain. Sides, somethin' good came out of it, somethin' always does," he told Andy honestly. "'Glad to have met you, Andy. And thank you."

Andy took his leave, leaving the Banks family, Jack, and Ellen alone in the room.

"We're glad you're all right, Aunt Jane," Annabel told her. "We've been worrying all day."

"Oh, it was nothing," Jane shrugged. "This family's not much without a bit of adventure, now are we?"

"This family could do with a bit less adventure, you ask me," Ellen muttered under her breath. Jack caught it and gave her a look that plainly said he agreed.

Michael coughed, trying to hide a laugh, and Jane put a hand on his arm as she added, "I'm fine."

"What did the lightning hit?" John wanted to know. "Andy said it made a big booming sound, and it scared everybody."

Jane shook her head. "I'm afraid I don't know," she told her nephew. "Whatever it was, it was very close."

Georgie reached up, snagged Jack's hat off his head. Jack shook his head and flicked the brim. The boy giggled and squirmed in Jack's lap. "Why are _you_ here, Jack?" he asked the leerie.

Jack, Jane, and Michael exchanged a look. "Oh, your aunt an' I had plans for tonight," Jack said. "Weren't gonna let a little thing like her bein' in the hospital get in the way."

"Oh you did, did you?" Michael glanced sideways at his sister.

Jane used the hand that wasn't still enveloped in Jack's to whack her brother in the arm with a backhand. "As a matter of fact, we did," she said. She looked at Jack. "This isn't what I had in mind, though."

Michael grinned cheekily. "What _did_ you have in mind, exactly?" he asked the two of them, enjoying the flush of color on both his sister's _and_ Jack's faces. Luckily, they were both saved from having to reply by the doctor coming in to check on the two of them.

* * *

"This really isn't necessary," Jane argued as Michael let them into her flat with the key. Behind him was Jack, his arm in a sling, per doctor's orders. He'd wrenched his left shoulder more than he'd thought, and the doctor said to rest it the next couple of days.

_Good thing I'm already all right at doin' my job one-handed_, Jack thought as he surveyed the interior of Jane's flat. He'd only ever been as far as the doorway. Now, he felt himself being ushered in by Michael, though Michael was shooting him a look that plainly stated, _Don't try anything funny-she's still my sister_.

Jane made her way to the sofa and sat down. "Michael, really. I don't need a babysitter."

"Nor do I," Jack muttered under his breath, leaning his back against the wall that separated the kitchen from the living area.

Michael was grinning like the cat that ate the proverbial canary. "Oh, I know," he said. "I just would feel better about it all, considering you _did_ have a minor concussion today, sister dear." He gave them both a wave. "Get some rest, you two. I'll call later, Jane." With another sidelong glance at Jack, he let himself out of the flat.

"Interestin' fella, your brother," Jack noted, once Michael was out of earshot.

"That's putting it mildly!" Jane rolled her eyes. "Jack, you don't have to stay. You've got a job to get to, and I'll make it fine on my own."

"The lights can wait a bit," Jack shrugged with his good shoulder. "It's staying lighter out now anyway." He sat down next to Jane on the sofa, keeping a respectable distance.

"Speaking of light…"Jane began, shifting so that she was facing him. She put an arm on the back of the couch and leaned back. "Thank you, for the story." At Jack's surprised look, she continued, "I drifted in and out most of the day. I didn't catch all of it, but enough to tell you how sorry I am about your father."

Jack tried to adjust so he was facing her, couldn't get in a proper position with his arm in the sling, and gave up, taking it off and tossing it across the room. Jane laughed. "Disobeying doctor's orders?"

"You heard the story," Jack pointed out. "'S not the first time."

"Fair point," Jane conceded. "You're an amazing man, Jack."

"I'm not," Jack disagreed quickly. "Just been lucky 'nough to have good people cross m' path when I needed 'em to."

"Sweeps are lucky," Jane offered. "I think your luck started when you met Bert. Or at least, it rubbed off a bit. After all…if you hadn't met Bert, you'd never have met us. The first time, I mean. You'd never have met Mary Poppins, never become a leerie…" She looked at him. "And we'd never have met you the second time, we'd never have saved the house if it hadn't been for your help."

"Nonsense," Jack said. "Was Michael's drawing that saved your house."

"Yes, but if you hadn't caught Georgie in the park that morning on the kite…"

Jack shook his head with a smile. "We're goin' to have to agree t' disagree, Jane," he said. "I've had just as much luck meetin' you all as you think you've had with me." He could see Jane coming up with an argument. He slid over one cushion on the sofa, gently pressed a gloved finger to her lips. "Save the arguments for the rallies," he told her, letting his hand slide under her chin to tilt it up so her lips met his.

When they finally broke apart, Jane laughed softly and bit her lip. "I think I saw some of those lights you saw with Mary Poppins."

Jack grinned. "Me, too."

They never told Michael, though he strongly suspected when he called Jane later that evening, and even though Jack was gone to light the lamps, that the doctor's orders to rest might have been ignored, just a little.

_Fin._


End file.
